Classic Poem

Richard Stapleton to the Author.

Phoebus hath giuen thee both his bow, and Muse;
With one thou slayst the Artizans of thunder,
And to thy verse dost such a sound infuse,
That gatherd storms therewith are blowne in sunder:
The other decks her with her golden wings
Spred beyond measure, in thy ample verse,
Where she (as in her bowrs of Lawrell) sings
Sweet philosophick strains that Feends might pierse,
The soule of brightnes in thy darknes shines
Most new, and deare: vnstainde with forraine graces,
And when aspiring sprights shall reach thy lines,
They will not heare our trebble-termed bases.
With boldnes then thy able Poems vse
Phoebus hath giuen thee both his bow and Muse.